


So What

by islasands



Series: Lambski [43]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Pure Love, Pure music, Pure sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam has thrown a party. It is late and everyone is very happily smashed. But Adam is not so drunk that he can't focus on something he wants. Music, as so often is the case in his life, assists the singularity of his desire.</p><p> </p><p>The music is "So What", by Miles Davis, from his album "Kind of Blue"</p>
            </blockquote>





	So What

"So What"

  


Miles Davis

  


“No, I want this,” he said to someone who wanted to play a particular CD. He absentmindedly snatched the CD off the person and put it aside. He loaded the player.

He poured himself two drinks and carefully sat down in an armchair. He stared at the drinks, wondering if one of them had been intended for someone else. He made his decision and drank one of them off so he only had one left to hold. He stretched out his legs. He let the music sift through his consciousness like a breeze.

He was off his face and on his 'fuck you game', vaguely aware he may have already offended several people at the party and that most likely he wasn’t done yet. He relaxed into the light as air rhythm of the cymbals, the confident, sexual advances of the piano, the oddly intellectual and controlled freedom of the bass – all swaying and budding like flowers and trees in the moonlight landscape created by the horns. Not moonlight on land. Moonlight under the sea. He became aware of his bloodstream, of all his body fluids actually. A pool of warmth was gathering in his abdomen. His eyes felt dreamy. Certain of the music phrases made him create saliva. He felt he was fastened to a rock on a coral reef of music, immersed in drifting sideways swells of sound. Someone spoke to him and he waved her away with a ‘not now’ gesture. He couldn’t even be bothered seeing who it was. The person laughed. “He’s soooo fucked,” she said to someone. Adam kept his arm in the air. His other arm joined it. His hands, involuntarily, were feeling the notes. His feet were crossed and the top one was playing the cymbals. His shoulders were imperceptibly shrugging to and fro. "Fuck me," he thought. "Fuck me dead." He couldn’t help it if he had zero interest in anyone’s thoughts or feelings or senses of humour. Not tonight. Tonight his brain felt like an anemone. Anyone floating into the cloud of its tentacles was either going to get stung, or he was going to retreat.

He was only interested in one thing really and he didn’t want to be interrupted.

Sauli, wearing some girl’s petticoat, was dancing in the middle of the room. Adam watched with half-closed eyes. The petticoat or slip was too small across the chest, making the shoestring straps redundant. They dangled down his arms. The puckering of extraneous fabric over his breasts accentuated how classically they had been shaped by testosterone. “You could shoot him out of a fucking cannon,” he said admiringly to his drink. “He’s got a head like a bullet too,” he added, remembering how he always lost forehead butting contests with him. “My own personal rocket,” he summarised, aware that his sense of easy, self-satisfied ownership was synchronizing with the bluesy self-assertions of the horn.

Sauli looked across the room at him and slowly raised his arms above his head. Keeping them up there, he deliberately caressed each of his wrists in turn, as though tying them in an invisible bow. Adam exhaled slowly. He raised his drink to his lips and used its rim to push his bottom lip down. Sauli slowly lowered his arms and held them out, cruciform fashion, while his hands fingered the air. He gyrated his hips slightly. Adam narrowed his eyes over his glass. He liked the seductive, blossomy disturbance his genitals made in the silk fabric. A nice bumpy clump of promise. He liked being in charge of the fact that later there would definitely be fruit. He would break it open and eat the seeds. “Lean back, baby” he called out. He wanted to see the promise more clearly. Sauli was good at leaning back and he obliged. He bent backwards and swayed his arching upper body. His throat was exposed and Adam mentally closed his hands around it. He shifted in his seat, aroused by the way his imagination had coincided with a particularly sensuous riffing of the trumpet. But then his gaze slid down to take in the muscularity of Sauli’s legs. The hem of the petticoat was raised by Sauli’s arching position, its lacy hem stretched over his hardened hamstrings. Adam stared at the shadow between his legs and clenched his teeth. “Look at those fucking calves,” he thought. He made a hissing sound. He tapped the arm of the chair. He finished his drink.

He got up and went to get another drink. Someone had begun dancing with Sauli. He stood by the drinks cabinet and watched for a while. A woman he didn’t know began chatting to him but he ignored her. The woman dancing with Sauli had put her arms around him. She was drunk and needed his assistance to stand. Sauli was laughing. Adam turned to the woman. It had dawned on him that her voice was grating. “You would be so pretty,” he said coolly, “if you just wouldn’t talk.” The woman laughed then sidled off when she realised he had meant what he said. Adam returned his attention to the centre of the room. Sauli’s back was to him. “There you have it”, Adam thought. “His character right there. The backbone of a soldier, - but with baby hairs on the nape of his neck. Hah! And his sexuality in those perfectly proportioned shoulders. Strong as fuck. God, he can fucking lift me off my feet. And he does, trying to make a fucking point. His precious ‘you don’t own me’ point. And I get it. I get it. But hey, look at that, look at that sturdy, independent, vulnerable little ass.” His eyes continued to watch but he was remembering something. “I love his ass but I can never fuck him from behind for long,” he thought. “I have to flip him over so I can see his face. I like seeing what I’m doing.”

He was suddenly irritated by the woman who now had her arms around Sauli’s neck. He went over and took Sauli’s arm. He pulled him against him, forcing him to release the woman, who staggered, laughing, and clasped at both of them to steady herself. Sauli and Adam were looking into each other’s eyes. The woman gained her balance. She kissed at their faces by way of excusing herself. Adam impatiently jerked his face away. The woman, sensing his dismissal, left them alone in the middle of the floor. He heard her say, “Possessive fucker,” to someone as she stumbled across the room. He let the music erase her and everyone else’s existence from the room. From his life. He put his hands on Sauli’s waist. He didn’t smile and Sauli couldn’t help smiling at this fact. “My dear love,” he thought, calmly enduring Adam’s silent scrutiny of his face, as Adam's gaze, in time to the sensuous meandering of the music, shifted from Sauli's lips to his eyes, nose, hair, cheekbones, jaw. “You are so made of music,” Sauli mentally added. He closed his eyes. He liked the feeling of Adam’s hands on his waist. Without altering the position of his hands Adam pulled him against him. He put his mouth over Sauli’s lips for the sole purpose of getting his tongue inside it. His tongue lolled inside its wet interior. His hands tightened their grip. Sauli’s tongue replied to his, winding around it, pushing it, slavering over it. Adam sucked it hard to immobilize its reciprocity. He slid down a little so that he could push his groin against Sauli’s. Sauli pulled his face away. The lightness of his blue eyes had darkened. “You are making me,” he mumbled as Adam slid his mouth down the side of his neck, “you are making me, - impolite.” But Adam already knew. “So what,” he murmured. “My house... my man.” He released Sauli and slowly ran his hands up the silky petticoat, his thumbs feeling for his nipples, then up to his throat. Sauli swayed against him.

“You two should get a room,” someone laughed.

Adam looked up. His hands were on the sides of Sauli’s throat.

“Don’t let me go,” Sauli whispered. Adam looked down at him. In a swift movement he had him in his arms. He looked down at him briefly. He grinned. Their eyes locked in a moment of such superior complicity of intentions they both burst out laughing.

“You fuckers,” Adam announced happily, swinging round in the doorway so violently that Sauli, lying in his arms, had to reach out an arm to prevent them both crashing into the wall, “can all fuck off.”

The party was over. He had important business to attend to. The music, like the theme music of a movie, followed them down the hallway and into their bedroom where it played over them, in a carefully thought out ecstasy of sensuality, as though their lovemaking was its living inspiration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
